Divine Intervention
by phattrash
Summary: In which Castiel is pitiably bad at matchmaking. Warning(s): Mild language, wincest


"Dean."

"Oh thank fuck, he speaks. And here I thought you'd just stare at me with that constipated look on your face for the next couple of hours."

Castiel frowned before neutralizing his expression and continuing. "Dean, have you ever noticed that Sam has remarkably radiant eyes?"

Dean froze, bewilderment yanking his head up. "Remarkably…_huh_?"

Castiel nodded to himself and attempted to rectify what he'd apparently perceived as a lack of understanding. "His eyes. They, as you might say, shine bright…like a diamond."

As Dean contemplated whether to laugh or interrogate the guy for peppering him with weird questions about Sam's face, Cas disappeared without another word.

Dean would have forgotten all about the strange little incident, if not for what happened a week later. Cas had just zapped them back to the bunker, the three of them having successfully completed an easy hunt. Sam and Dean were each liberally coated in a foul-smelling combination of sweat, blood, and Lamia guts. Cas, of course, was as clean as he had been when they'd started, that damn trench-coat of his flapping pristinely as he took a step forward.

He stared at each of them in turn, and then without warning, he snapped his fingers. Dean bit back a curse and whirled around, Sam looking just as flustered as Dean felt. Thankfully, they hadn't been teleported to some emotionally damaging future timeline against their will, this time. They were still in the bunker, only, the lights had been dimmed, and the table was set, and…were those _candles_?

Cas said something along the lines of, "Have fun, you two", and it sounded so robotic coming out of his mouth that the effect was ruined somewhat. Dean turned to ask him what the hell he was doing, but with a flutter of wings, he was gone.  
Dean threw Sam a look, and it was then that he noticed that Cas had taken the liberty of cleaning them both up before he left. Sam ran a hand through his now-clean hair and laughed incredulously. "That was…odd. Even for Cas."  
Dean eyed the _lace?_ tablecloth and the suspiciously elegant silverware.  
"Yeah, no kidding."  
Sam nudged Dean with his shoulder. "Look, he didn't actually put out any food. Think he forgot?"  
Dean grinned. "Pizza it is."

They sat at the decorated table as they waited for the pizza to get there. Neither one of them had bothered to switch the lights back on, and the candlelight cast flickering shadows all over Sam's face. Dean used his fork to pick at the wax pooling around the nearest candle.

"Dude, I think he has the hots for you or something."  
Sam looked up from the fat book he'd dragged to the table.  
"What?"  
"Cas, I mean. Last week he was, like, raving about how great your eyes are. I don't get him."  
Sam shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. "Come on, Dean, tell me you're not seriously considering that."  
Dean shrugged and looked back down at his fork. "Crazier things've been true."  
"I'm ignoring you on three."  
"He _likes_ you, big boy. The truth'll catch up to you someday."  
Sam turned a page of his book loudly, his nose practically cemented to the margins.  
"That book's a fire hazard, Sam. You should know better."  
Sam blew out all the candles in answer.

* * *

"Cas, are you playing _matchmaker_ for me and Dean?"

"How did you—"

"Subtlety isn't your strong suit when it comes to this stuff. Only Dean would be dense enough not to notice."

"I see. Have my efforts been completely fruitless, then?"

"Tell me something. Why are you doing this?"

* * *

Dean didn't usually pay attention to half of what Castiel said, and yet he still noticed that the amount of awkward comments concerning Sam and The Many Ways In Which He Was Wonderful, was increasing exponentially. An idle conversation about the sorry state of the host of Heaven would be punctuated with a reflection on Sam's "strong penchant for witticisms" or his "formidable musculature". Without knowing exactly why, Dean was supremely relieved that Sam was never around to hear any of it.

It wasn't just the (anything-but-)casual compliments, either. Once, Dean was staring at Sam without realizing that he was doing it (it happened much more often than he'd ever admit to anyone), and he was snapped out of his reverie when Sam's hair started floating around his head like he was in a goddamn shampoo commercial. When Dean whipped around to seek out the source of the mysterious indoor breeze, he found Cas standing behind him with a look of intense concentration on his face and a single finger uplifted. Sam didn't seem to notice a thing; he kept his eyes glued to his laptop even as his hair threatened to take flight.

One morning, Dean decided he couldn't bear it anymore. He broached the topic to Sam, expecting the two of them to hash out a course of action, or whatever. They ended up kissing instead. A thought occurred to Dean through the fevered haze that Sam's lips were drawing him into. He pulled back the slightest bit, ignoring Sam's tiny sound of protest.

"Wait, was Cas trying to get us to _hook up_ this entire time?"

Sam sighed, and their heads were so close together that he could smell the coffee on his breath. He could still taste it, too.  
"Dean, it's more amazing to me that you didn't pick up on it earlier than that Cas was doing it at all."  
"You telling me you got to experience all that shit, too? You got the routine status reports about my maidenly virtues?""Yeah. Thing is, I'd been noticing your…maidenly virtues for years. Didn't need Cas to help me out in that department. Though it _was_ nice of him."

Dean kissed Sam again to keep himself from saying something embarrassing.

Later, the three of them were seated around the table in a bizarre caricature of a family. A pair of incestuous gay brothers and their kooky guardian angel.

"So why'd you do all that, anyway? I mean, not that I don't appreciate it now, but."

Castiel turned to Dean.  
"As I told your brother, it is because the two of you could stand to strengthen your relationship. And what better way to do so than by fulfilling your repressed intimate feelings for one another?"  
Dean spluttered before biting out, "You been reading marriage counseling pamphlets?"

Sam reached over and patted Cas on the shoulder. "Thanks. You did a good job."  
Castiel stared at Sam's outstretched hand. "Based on your words and the minuteness of this physical gesture, I cannot determine whether or not you are employing sarcasm."

Sam huffed a breath at that, before standing up and drawing Castiel into a hug. Dean stifled a snicker at how floored Cas looked.  
When Sam let him go, he blinked a couple of times before saying, "I…appreciated that." Sam beamed at him.

When the brothers were alone again, and Dean had his hands all over Sam, he couldn't help thinking that Cas was onto something. He'd make a great couples therapist.

-end-


End file.
